The Allure of Foreign Food
by Wasuremono
Summary: Years after the War Against Giygas, Poo finds that nostalgia can come from the strangest sources.


**The Allure of Foreign Food**

**by Wasuremono**

In the end, Poo blamed it on the timing. The Hemisphere Conference was always the last week of August; when they had announced that this year's location would be Summers, he had thought nothing of it until he arrived, when the coincidence of time and place struck him like a thunderbolt. It had been late August the first time he had set foot in Summers: eleven years ago, when Giygas was rising and it had fallen on Poo to stop him.

In Summers, the unchanging city, every detail was the same as it had been all those years ago. The last leisurely travelers of the tourist season, the trees emerging from the sun-baked pavement, and even the smell of brine and tar in the air was enough to send him hurtling back in time. By day, in the luxurious air-conditioned conference rooms of the Summers Convention Center, it was easy to be the smooth and dignified diplomat-prince and to carry his twenty-six years as if they were more -- but when each day's talks ended and Poo stepped out into the late-afternoon Summers heat, he became fifteen again, on a quest to find a friend he had never seen before. It was a strange sensation, this nostalgia: pride, certainly, but there was a wistful sadness as well, and a touch of vulnerability that chilled him. Old memories stirred, and old urges came with them.

The last night of the Conference, as most of the dignitaries made their way to the bars and clubs in celebration of another year's connections made, Poo walked alone back to the hotel. (One of the advantages of being the first Dalaamese diplomat in several generations, he had learned, was being allowed to avoid unpleasant social situations and have it labeled "fascinating" and "mysterious" by the shallow.) He had not dared do it any other night -- not when the eyes of the world were on him and, as always, lingered on his past -- but now, with his diplomatic duties put to rest, he was free to indulge himself in the vice that had lingered in the back of his mind since his arrival.

Once he arrived in his room, door closed behind him, Poo sat down at the desk and opened the phone book. He hadn't been sure if he would find it, but there it was: the ad, unmistakable even with a new design and a new phone number. He could only hope that, after all the years and the changes of owners, the essence of the thing was still the same. There was no better way to know than to try, Poo reminded himself, and he picked up the receiver and dialed.

The voice at the other end was a young woman, pleasant if generic. "Hello, this is Mach Pizza! How may I help you?"

"Hello," he replied. "I would like to place an order..."

* * *

As advertised, the pizza arrived within three minutes, and Poo spent the remainder of his exchanged currency on a five-hundred-percent tip. The cardboard box was thin, and there were a few spots on the bottom made translucent by grease; grimacing at the oily feeling of the box in his hands, he retrieved a towel from the bathroom and laid it on the desk before setting the pizza upon it. Poo stepped back to regard the box -- unclean, shoddy, made to be disposable -- and wondered whether he had made the right choice.

All doubt vanished when he opened it. Inside was the pizza he had so long remembered: mottled golden bread covered with irregular slathers of tomato sauce and slick, pale cheese. Grease suffused everything, even pooling in the tiny indentations of the concave pepperoni. Under other circumstances, Poo might have judged it vile, a slimy indignity masquerading as food... but time had softened him, had it not? Time had shown him otherwise.

He took a slice.

Even after years of exposure to strange food, he had never quite adjusted to the taste of the first bite of pizza, awash in strange textures and flavor mixtures. It took him a moment to sort the sensations by their causes -- the pepperoni's tang, the chewy bulk of crust, the strangely resilient cheese -- but once he did, he found himself satisfied. Yes, this is how it had tasted, back then. Taking another bite, focusing only on the flavors, he let his mind wander back.

* * *

_"Pizza's here!"_

_The entryway to their hotel room was still thick with the steam of four consecutive showers, and so Poo didn't see the box until Ness emerged into the living area proper. The box was a large, nearly flat brick of white cardboard -- rather less than he had expected for a celebratory meal, truthfully. His master had warned him about the food, but he had not known entirely what to expect._

_Ness set the box down on their makeshift table, and the others watched as he flipped open the lid, as if afraid of what might lurk inside. Poo understood why as soon as it was open. Inside was some kind of circular flatbread, heaped with... heaped with food, certainly, but few foods he could identify. Chopped vegetables, strange nuggets of meat, a heavy-looking and greasy off-white substance, some kind of red underlayer..._

_Ness smiled, somehow. "None of you guys mind Supreme, right?" Paula shook her head, but Jeff winced slightly; Poo let go an inner sigh of relief, glad that he was not the only one confused by this madness._

_"Eh," Jeff said. "I'm not really into mushrooms, but I can pick them off, I guess. At least there's no pineapple involved."_

_"Great, great. Well, dig in!"_

_The other three leaned over to grab wedges of the pizza, and Poo just watched, uncertain of how to proceed. They were eating it? Truly? But all the substances, and the grease, and the smell -- the smell reminded him of a kitchen fire in the palace when he had been young. Nonetheless, if they were eating it happily, it could not be completely unpalatable. (Could it?) Poo gingerly picked up a slice of the pizza (was a food this messy truly meant to be eaten with your hands alone?) and took a bite._

_His mouth was awash in chaos. The red underlayer was some savory fruit sauce, it seemed, spiced in a way not unlike the meat nuggets, and the white -- the white was best not even thought about, lest he gag and spoil the others' meal. Poo chewed mightily and swallowed the mouthful as soon as he could manage, and when he returned his focus to the table, he found his companions staring at him._

_It was Paula who spoke first. "Poo, are you all right? You've got this look on your face like something's wrong."_

_"No, it is... It is only that this food --"_

_"Oh, God, I'm sorry," said Ness. "Are you allergic to something? I should have asked about allergies before I ordered."_

_"Not allergic," Poo replied, trying desperately to look reassuring even as the flavors lingered in his mouth. "Simply startled. I have never had Eaglelander food before."_

_Ness looked truly abashed -- more ashamed of himself, Poo realized, than he had been of his homesick daydreaming that had nearly cost them their lives in the sewers. "Oh! Gosh, I should have known. I just felt so much like having a pizza party that I didn't even think about it. Can I get you something else? I think I saw a Dalaamese takeout place just down the street."_

_Poo shook his head -- no, he had no desire to see what this place made of Dalaamese food right now. "It is all right. I will adjust to it, and we are celebrating, after all. Let us celebrate. To your new Sanctuary!"_

_"And to never going back to the Fourside sewers again," Jeff added._

_"Yes, that as well."_

_"Here here," said Ness, raising his half-eaten slice in a mock salute._

* * *

He'd barely gotten through his single slice that night, Poo remembered, and even now, he was uncertain how much of the medium pizza he would be able to finish on his own. Even now that he was able to find the mix of flavors palatable, there was simply so much substance to the pizza, more than it would seem to the eye. His first slice left him no longer hungry, and his second left him just at the edge of over-full, with the full knowledge of wooziness to follow if he continued. Poo eyed the six slices left remaining and sighed; he hated wastefulness, but he knew full well he could not tolerate even one more slice.

But that was the beauty of pizza, was it not? Tomorrow, it would still be palatable -- different, and perhaps lesser, but an acceptable food nonetheless. Regardless of temperature and most forms of ill treatment, it retained its taste and structure; it was, in short, perhaps the most durable food Poo had ever seen.

He could remember times when that trait had come in very handy...

* * *

_"Ugh. I think the molokheiya soup's gone off."_

_Jeff held up the travel jug, swirling it a bit to show that the clear, light soup was beginning to go viscous and cloudy. Poo frowned, wishing secretly that he had purchased more food during their trip to Dalaam. Here -- walled in by mountains and surrounded by ancient palm trees, the better to avoid a dinosaur's attention while the group did their best to assemble a meal and recover from their journey -- a taste of home would have been very welcome. He was tired, his ribs still ached even after Lifeup, and it was hard to ignore that Dalaam was only a Teleport away._

_No, he told himself. His duty in this journey was to stand by his companions, and they did not have time to waste on a trip. No matter how much he craved a proper lunch, he would eat what they had to offer._

_"Looks like all I've got left that's any good is jerky," Jeff continued, "and that's not a meal even with ketchup."_

_Ness rolled his eyes. "Especially with ketchup! If you even think that's a good idea, you've got to be crazy." _

_"Hey! After what you did back there, you've got a lot of nerve calling me crazy for liking a little ketchup --"_

_"Boys!"Paula's raised voice, so rare and so striking, quieted them immediately and even had Poo averting his eyes in shame over an imagined slight. "I know we're all in bad moods and starving, but that's never going to change unless we scrape something to eat together. Let's not get sidetracked. Now, then: Jeff's got that jerky, I've got a couple of calorie sticks, Poo's just got water... Ness, do you have anything in your backpack?"_

_Ness pulled the weatherbeaten yellow bag open, staring into it with a look of growing comprehension. "Oh, right! I almost forgot about this... it should still be good. I think it's from Scaraba." He pulled out the battered-looking pizza box and opened it up. Inside were four slices of the pizza that Poo remembered being ordered in Scaraba... how long ago? Three days? Four?_

_Paula grimaced. "Are you sure that's still good?"_

_"It looks fine to me," said Ness, "and right now, any port in a storm, right?"_

_"I guess so," she replied. "So that's one piece for each of us, plus half a calorie stick, some jerky, and some water. It's not gourmet, but it'll do. Er... is this all right with you, Poo?"_

_"I will manage," he said, and he reached for a piece of the leftovers. _

_Silence fell as Poo and the others began their makeshift lunch deep in the Lost Underworld. To say it was a fine meal would have been flattering, but he was hungry, and hunger was the best seasoning he knew._

* * *

Yes, Poo decided; the pizza would certainly keep overnight.

He willed himself back into the present, surveying his hotel room. There was little left to be done to prepare for his departure tomorrow; his suitcases were packed, one full of personal effects and one full of gifts for the children, and the room was tidy, barely lived-in-looking at all. He had never been extravagant in his habits, and he was even more careful in rented spaces.

That was the way Poo's life was these days: tidy, simple, under immaculate control. He occupied a thousand roles -- diplomat, warrior, teacher, student, son, husband, father, and yet more -- and balanced them all with the serenity granted by long Mu practice, a capacity in which he had quiet pride. There was no other life in the world he would have chosen, given the choice. Still, there was something about the memory of those wild days, those desperate battles and unexpected friendships, that called to him. Those days had held pain and madness and fear, but they had also taught him a great deal and made him a hero, and the maelstrom of emotion and experience had given rise to something larger than its parts. If his current life was a Brain Food Lunch, each individual component neatly separated from the whole and left pure, the fight against Giygas had been a pizza, and he was better for having indulged.

It occurred to him, suddenly, that there was very little scheduled for the next few days -- not even most of his routine duties, since he had been uncertain of just how long the conference would keep him away. It would be easy to steal a few days for himself, just this once. He would have to contact Kiya and the children, of course, but perhaps they could join him?

He chided himself mentally; no need to get ahead of himself! Instead, he walked across the room to unzip one of the suitcases and withdraw his address book from an internal pocket before stepping towards the desk and the phone. He closed the pizza box carefully -- over-carefully, he knew, for cardboard -- and set it on the floor beside him before opening the address book and beginning to dial.

One ring, two rings... and then the voice at the other end, feminine and instantly recognizable. "Hello?"

"Paula. I had hoped I would reach you."

"Poo? Is that you? It's great to hear from you -- it's been forever!"

"Two years, yes. Far too long. That is why I called, actually; I was wondering if you and Ness were available within the next few days?"

"Oh, I'm sure we can find some time. I'll have to call Jeff. If we could all get back together for a day or two, it'd be..."

"Just like old times?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth. When should we expect you?"

"Tomorrow morning, with luck."

There was a pause. "Poo, don't take this wrong," said Paula. "I'm really delighted to hear from you, and I'm looking forward to seeing you, but... what brought this on? You're not known for inviting yourself to people's houses."

Poo glanced at the pizza box beside him, and for a moment he felt a twinge of embarrassment -- but in the end, it was always best to be honest. "Blame the late-summer weather in Summers," he replied. "And blame Mach Pizza."


End file.
